


Silent Vigil

by IntoTheAbyssWeGo



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Ending, Angst with a Happy Ending, Brief Mary but we don't need her, Clueless Sherlock, Depression, First Kiss, Getting Together, Implied/Referenced Suicide attempt, John Needs A Hug, John Watson Loves Sherlock Holmes, John needs to heal, John's Mustache, M/M, One Shot, References to Depression, References to Torture, Sad with a Happy Ending, Sherlock Holmes Loves John Watson, Suicidal John Watson, Suicidal Thoughts, don't worry he gets one, no one actually dies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-06
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-16 13:40:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28582911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IntoTheAbyssWeGo/pseuds/IntoTheAbyssWeGo
Summary: “No.” There was a ringing in his ears that hadn’t been there a moment ago.“No.” Tunnel vision was slowly setting in and he suddenly noticed there was a stain on the tablecloth underneath his straining white knuckles.“No.”  Air was suddenly absent from his lungs and he dimly registered his chair falling over as he made his way resolutely towards the door. It was only as the door swung closed behind him that he realized he was limping again.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 4
Kudos: 53





	Silent Vigil

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first ever fanfic, and while I understand why the writers of the series had John react the way he did, I really wanted to explore another side of his grief. It was really interesting for me to explore how his depression might have looked and how he would have reacted if his love was romantic instead of platonic.  
> WARNING  
> There are references to suicide attempts and suicidal thoughts in this work. Please don't read if you feel this will trigger you in any way. If it is something you are struggling with please reach out to someone you trust so they can give you the support and love you need and deserve.

**John**

“No.” There was a ringing in his ears that hadn’t been there a moment ago.  


“No.” Tunnel vision was slowly setting in and he suddenly noticed there was a stain on the tablecloth underneath his straining white knuckles.  


“No.” Air was suddenly absent from his lungs and he dimly registered his chair falling over as he made his way resolutely towards the door. It was only as the door swung closed behind him that he realized he was limping again. 

**Sherlock**

Eyes wide and lips still slightly parted from the last word he uttered, Sherlock stared at the door as it rocked back and forth gently. That had not gone according to plan.  


“Sir? Excuse me, sir… I don’t believe you actually work here, why are you wearing one of our staff aprons?”  


The nasally voice finally managed to break his trance and Sherlock’s gaze zeroed in on the annoyance. “No, I am not in fact one of your staff, very well spotted, not that you would ever have noticed while you were busy lining your pockets with extra cash from the tips rightfully belonging to aforementioned staff. No, Janine will never go out with you so stop trying. You’re right in thinking that you should go see a doctor about that mole, it looks nasty.” Shoving the offending apron into the gaping managers hands, Sherlock marched after John as he re-evaluated his grand entrance.  


What had gone wrong? Surely after everything John would have been pleased to see him. There were many possibilities that he had calculated; everything ranging from divine retribution to kissing (although, that had been more of a fantasy than calculation if he was being honest with himself). This simple denial had not been one of the options. It was as though someone had told John the sky was clearly neon green and he was simply rejecting the obvious insanity as concisely and irrefutably as possible.  


Should Sherlock have waited to do this in private? Perhaps crashing yet another one of John’s dates was not the best idea. John had never appreciated that before, either. Inhaling sharply, Sherlock turned around to stare at the woman who was still sitting at John’s recently vacated table looking dazed. Though much of her overall appearance seemed innocuous there was something fishy about her that Sherlock couldn’t quite place and not having all the answers, especially in relation to someone close to John, was unacceptable. Making the snap decision to let John have some time to process before he dashed after him, Sherlock strode back to the table, grabbed her arm firmly and started dragging her out to go talk somewhere they wouldn’t be kicked out of.  


After finding a nearby café that had outside seating, Sherlock proceeded to threaten the woman that if she ever tried to get in contact with John again, Sherlock would personally see to it that her life would be utterly ruined. In the time frame they sat together, he was finally able to deduce that she was a spy of some sort (Honestly, how had he missed that? It was glaringly obvious) and as he left, he texted Mycroft to take care of that little problem. No one was going to hurt his John ever again. Not if he had any say in the matter.

**John**

John hadn’t stopped moving since he had escaped the restaurant, but with each step, knives lanced through the nerve clusters in his hip, stealing his breath. He welcomed the pain, however. It allowed his mind to remain blissfully blank as it refused to process what he had just witnessed. Better this kind of pain than the pain he had been feeling for two years. Better this kind of pain than the emptiness that had followed. The absolute nothingness. He could feel it stealing over him again as the world turned gray and his mind attempted to detach from his body. Then the pain would shoot through him again and he would come back to himself in shocking technicolor.  


Without realizing where his subconscious had taken him, John looked down to see his own reflection in the jet black surface of a grave he now considered to be a strange kind of home. It was where he felt his own spirit had remained these past two years, and where he found whatever peace there was left to be had. His darkest moments and his deepest secrets had been poured out over this grave. Perhaps now it would finally swallow him up, welcoming him into its depths as he had longed for it to do countless times before. As his tired mind begged him to sink to his knees and curl up next to it, his body resolutely refused to unlock itself and he merely stood there letting the chill wind seep into his bones, numbing his mind and body.  


“John.” The soft voice cut through the fog.  


Without blinking, John continued his silent vigil. This was the one place he had begged, pleaded, and cried silent tears to be able to hear that voice again and yet as he heard it once more, it felt almost blasphemous on this ground he had come to feel was hallowed.  


“John, please.”  


A hand settled softly, hesitantly onto his shoulder and he finally allowed himself to turn and look at the ghost made flesh. 

**Sherlock**

There were many things that Sherlock had both seen and experienced. Many of those things had been quite painful, and while he was loath to admit it, terrifying. Nothing he had ever gone through, however, could have prepared him for the gut-wrenching horror that went through him at the dead eyes that finally turned to look at him.  


“... John?” Sherlock asked hesitantly, silently begging for some type of reaction from the man in front of him. When no response was forthcoming, he decided to try a new tactic. “You know, John, you really should get rid of that mustache, it ages you like nothing else will.” The empty eyes in front of him merely blinked slowly in response. Feeling panic rising in him, Sherlock looked around as though hoping an answer would be forthcoming from the frustratingly silent graves surrounding them.  


Deductions started bubbling up unbidden as Sherlock grasped desperately at the only way he knew how to process things. He became hyper aware of everything about John as he finally allowed himself to truly look at the man in front of him.  


“Right, well it’s not just the mustache that looks off. It’s all of you, I’m afraid. You do look quite peaky John, not getting out of the house at all anymore. Haven’t gone on a regular run in about two… ah… yes, well. Dark circles under your eyes aren’t helping things either. Nightmares, then. No regular sleeping patterns. Panic attacks. Your limping again, I thought we’d rid you of that completely. Apparently not. Your drinking habits have become much worse, while I’m not one to judge, John, I do think you ought to watch out for your liver. It won’t last forever, so I’m told. John, you didn’t have tea this morning. What has happened to you? Tea. Yes, tea, John. You need tea. Come along.” And with that Sherlock latched onto John’s hand pulling him in his wake. 

**John**

John allowed his hand to fall limply away from Sherlock’s grasping fingers as he turned back to the grave. As he felt those violinist’s hands attempt to grasp his own again, he jerked away from the contact as though from a burning stove. John heard the sharp intake of breath from behind him, but felt only the steely gray of nothingness clouding his mind.  


“I’m staying here… Sherlock.” It was more difficult than he realized it would be to say the name that he had sobbed here just the other day. “Please leave. I can’t deal with this right now.”  


“But John…I-” came the quiet reply.  


“Did you know?” John interrupted. “I’m living with Lestrade right now. Have been for about a year and a half. It took me six months to finally come out of my shock induced stupor.” He paused, sighing, and then continued in a horrifying monotone.“And then, when I finally did, it was only to realize without you I had no life to live. I think Mycroft must’ve put more cameras in the flat because when I decided to finally join you, Greg came in and took my gun away. Surprised they didn’t take it from me in the first place, to be honest…” Here he paused again losing himself in the memory.  


"They didn’t send me anywhere, they just moved me to his flat. They did take away all his sharp knives though. Silly really, I would only off myself with my own gun, otherwise it wouldn’t feel right. Is that something I should say?” He asked himself distractedly, “probably not. Ah well.” Shaking his head, he continued slowly, “After that he got me up every day, helped me do some stretches, took me to work, picked me up, fed me, he even had to help me shower sometimes when I just couldn’t move on my own… I should get him a good scotch or something. Anyways, I was finally getting to the point where I was glad they had stopped me. A couple months ago I started volunteering at a soup kitchen, I went and got a library card, I even started going on dates again. Nothing drastic, just to make connections again, I guess.” Here John finally turned to look at Sherlock again who he was mildly surprised to see had tears streaming down his face.  


John tried to continue as he stumbled over his words, “And now… you… I… I feel like all that progress is gone. I just - just please go away. I’m tired.” At these words, his body finally gave out and he slowly slumped to the ground and curled up next to his grave. As darkness overtook him he smiled slightly, welcoming it as an old friend. 

**Sherlock**

Sherlock had progressed so far beyond shocked, he was numb. Never. Never in any capacity had he calculated this as a possibility. John was strong and bright. John was the sun. Sure, he had been suicidal when they had first met, but for some reason Sherlock had assumed that it would never prove to be a problem again. Why had he not known about this?! Why had no one told him?! Suddenly his last conversation with Mycroft made much more sense. 

_“Just please be… careful with him Sherlock.”  
_

_“What are you blathering about, I’m always careful with him.” At Mycroft’s pointed look Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Alright, not always, but you know what I mean.”  
_

_“I do indeed brother mine, but I would caution you again that John is in a… delicate state currently and I would not suggest springing yourself on him as you seem determined to do. You might not be met with the reception you anticipate.”  
_

_“Oh, would you stop beating around the proverbial bush and just spit it out, Mycroft! Otherwise leave me alone,” Sherlock hissed at him while debating which outfit he should wear to interrupt John’s date.  
_

_Making no further attempt to explain himself, Mycroft merely sighed and said, “Do not say I didn’t warn you baby brother.”  
_

_At that, Sherlock looked up in suspicion. Mycroft never referred to him as ‘baby brother’ except in very particular occasions that were usually reserved for family members dying or someone messing with Sherlock’s Stradivarius.  
_

_“Well, thank you for the frankly ridiculous warning -big brother- but John will be overjoyed to see me. You’ll see.”_

Sherlock wanted to slap himself from six hours ago. He also wanted to shoot Mycroft, who would be paying for this for the next five years at least, if not the rest of their lives. But that was later. Right now, he had to do something about John. Tears were still leaking from his eyes, and he furiously dashed them away as he took in the sight before him. John was sitting on the cold, wet ground, leaning against Sherlock’s tombstone with his hand pressed to it as though begging entrance. More tears escaped and Sherlock cursed his transport as it could not seem to stop betraying him today. 

**John**

John slowly regained consciousness as he tried to blink the crust away from his eyes. Laying in bed for a few minutes, he let his mind wander as he played connect-the-dots with the specks on his ceiling. Finally resolving to get up for the day, he went to his closet running his fingers over the soft wool of his favorite ratty old jumper. It didn’t used to be one of his favorites. This one, however, had several burn holes in it from old experiments that were much too bombastic for anyone’s welfare. Putting it on with a wistful crook of his lips, John made his way down the creaky staircase. How Sherlock ever managed to make it up and down this thing without ever making a noise, John would never know.  


Wandering aimlessly into the kitchen, he started going through the motions of making tea and just as he was about to check if the milk was spoiled, as per usual, John’s body jerked so hard all he could do was watch as the glass shattered and the milk started to seep into his socks. He was at Baker Street. This was Baker Street. What the hell was he doing at Baker Street?! Looking up as though pulled by an invisible, inexorable string, his eyes fell on Sherlock’s backlit silhouette standing in the kitchen doorway.  


“Wha… What’s happened? Why am I here? How…” As he slowly petered off, Sherlock gingerly made his way around the mess towards John.  


“... You were cold.” Was the only response John was given. Looking up into Sherlock’s eyes, John felt his body start to sway dangerously. Suddenly, he was no longer standing in the kitchen, but was being carried to his chair next to the roaring fire.  


“You… lit a fire. I didn’t know you knew how to make a proper one that wasn’t in the rubbish bin,” John whispered as he stared into the dancing flames.  


“You were cold, John. I… I couldn’t just let you be cold. I’m sorry I moved you without your permission but-” At this Sherlock was cut off by John’s snort.  


“You just apologized to me… For doing something without my permission. Right. I must be hallucinating. Wouldn’t be the first time.” John’s eyes started to slip out of focus again.

**Sherlock**

Sherlock began to panic.  


“NO!” He shouted, not quite knowing what he was denying, but feeling it vehemently nonetheless. At his shout John jumped and looked back at him as Sherlock knelt in front of him gripping John’s knees so hard they were sure to bruise later. 

“You are NOT hallucinating, you are here, at Home, with ME. And I _am_ sorry John. I will never stop apologizing to you for the rest of our lives if you’ll let me. I never figured this into my calculations, I never imagined me going away like I did would affect you in this way. It was never my intention to do this to you. If I had known it would affect you like this I would have done things differently, but at the moment there were no other options I could think of and I had to keep all of you safe! I had to! Please! _Please John_. Please…” At this point Sherlock didn’t even know what he was begging for, but he felt John’s trousers wrinkle under his fingers even more than they were previously.  


Sherlock felt more lost and broken than when he was being tortured in a place many had claimed was inescapable. He had had his thoughts of John to keep him company in his lowest moments, however, and had clung to those with every fiber of his being. Escaping into his mind palace had allowed him to relive every single moment he had shared with John from the very beginning, over and over. It had brought him such peace and contentment knowing that no matter what was happening to him in the moment, John was safe and continuing on with his life. Seeing John become a lifeless husk of the man he had known and loved, however, seemed to create a chasm in his chest that felt he wasn’t sure would ever stop bleeding. Sensing a shift in the air, Sherlock lifted his eyes to John just in time to see unadulterated rage shutter over John’s features. 

**John**

“When you… ‘went away’?” Suddenly it was no longer gray nothingness that encircled John. Launching himself from the armchair John shoved Sherlock onto his back and nearly choked him as he clenched at Sherlock’s collar.  


“WHEN YOU WENT AWAY?!” Spit from the force of his words landed on Sherlock’s face, but John’s higher functions had shut down at this point and he couldn’t be bothered to care. “Is that what it was for you _Sherlock_?” John spit the name as he would vitriol. “Just a nice holiday while you ‘went away’ for a bit, yeah?” Sherlock’s skull thumped hard enough against the carpet as John shook him that John wondered briefly whether Sherlock would end up mildly concussed, but immediately dismissed the thought in favor of continuing his diatribe. “You DIED Sherlock. YOU DIED. And you made me _watch_.” 

Suddenly the bubble of his anger burst and he gasped as he felt hot tears start sliding down his cheeks. “How… how could you leave me, Sherlock? You p-promised. You promised to take me with you. It was us against the world, w-wasn’t it? We were a team. A partnership. You were my everything…” The last words left his mouth in a whisper and suddenly he realized his weren’t the only tears falling. 

**Sherlock and John**

“... Please John,” was all he managed to choke out. At length, he brought his arms up to gently wrap around John’s shoulders and pulled him down into a shaky embrace. John’s body tensed, but Sherlock felt it when, with a shuddery exhale, John finally allowed himself to melt into the embrace. A few seconds went by as they held that position, but then something inside both of them seemed to break at the same time as they buried their faces into each other’s necks and started sobbing.  


Many of John’s days had been spent in silent tears, but this was the first time that he felt the cleansing effect of said tears. Breathing through the sobs that were still forcing their way out, John felt soft, yet hesitant lips brush against his forehead.  


Sherlock felt terrified for an entirely different reason as he pulled away slightly to make red, puffy eye contact with John.  


“... Jo-hn…” Sherlock’s voice broke and he cleared his throat as he attempted to start again, “We… We still _are_ a team. We still _are_ a partnership. And…” taking a deep breath, Sherlock threw all caution to the wind. “And you are and _will always be_ my everything. I love you, John Watson, and that is something no one can ever take away from either of us for the rest of our lives.” The courage he had found suddenly ran out and Sherlock dropped his gaze afraid of deducing something he would rather not know.  


“Sherlock,” John whispered reverentially. When the man in question stubbornly refused to look up, John took it upon himself to get his attention. Dipping down, John brushed his lips against Sherlock’s in the softest hint of a kiss that still managed to hold all his feelings within it. Being now in possession of Sherlock’s full and considerable attention, John smiled softly. “Sherlock, thank you for coming back to me. Thank you for being alive. Thank you for loving me. I’m not going to be truly okay for sometime though, love.” At the endearment, John felt Sherlock’s sharp intake of breath. 

Smiling a bit more, John dipped down for another soft kiss. “As you may have been able to deduce by now, I wholeheartedly reciprocate. This doesn’t mean, however, that my healing will happen all at once. This is going to be difficult for me to work through. You may have to come to therapy with me. I’m going to have really bad days still. It won’t all magically become better, but I want to work towards that future with you, if you’re willing.” Upon hearing these words Sherlock nodded and after a pause turned his head to the side and muttered something. “What was that?” More muttering. “Sherlock, you need to speak more clearly, I can’t understand you. Not that I ever really could before either.”  


“I… I want to hear you say it,” Sherlock finally managed.  


Humming as he leaned back down into the embrace John closed his eyes. “I love you too, Sherlock. Always have, and always will.”  


Smiling in utter contentment, Sherlock wrapped his arms more tightly around John’s torso and nuzzled into his hair as they both allowed themselves to soak up the moment and simply be. 

_The End_


End file.
